Andalucian Summer
by AmanitaMuscaria
Summary: Young Severus spends a summer away. I've had this image in my head for a long time, and had to get it out. No horses were harmed in the writing of this fic


Andalucian Summer

After his fifth year, after Lily had abandoned him and their friendship in favour of James Potter and the Marauders, after he'd gone home and discovered what his father had done to his mother, he'd had no place else to go.

Who else could he have turned to?

Dumbledore, who'd always sided with James and Sirius? Slughorn, who had been very wary of Severus the last year? None of his school mates were in a position to offer him sanctuary, even if he'd been on such terms that he could ask. There was only Lucius. He didn't know what Lucius would ask of him in return, but he thought he'd be willing to pay the price. Any price.

He'd forgotten that Lucius had said he'd be going abroad in the summer, the last time they'd spoken, when he'd given Lucius his latest inventions. When he'd apparated to the gates of Malfoy Manor and asked for Lucius, it had been half an hour before the man had appeared, and he seemed in a tearing hurry.

"Ah - Severus. How may I help?"

The manners were impeccable, even though Lucius glanced back over his shoulder as he shut the door after coming in.

"I didn't have anyone else to turn to - I - need someplace to stay."

"Severus, I'm about to leave for the continent. I'm just waiting for - . But what's happened? Have you got problems at home?"

"Yes. I can't stay there any longer."

Lucius' grey eyes considered him for a minute, then he brought his hands together in a sharp clap.

"Of course. Tell me, would you care to spend the summer at a place the family has near Seville?"

Severus shrugs, not entirely sure where Seville is, somewhat disappointed not to be asked to accompany Lucius.

But he knows that, no matter where it is, it will be immeasurably better than spending summer at home.

"It will be warm; you will have to do some work, but the girls in southern Spain are lovely. Just be careful, and don't get caught. They don't take kindly to strangers meddling with their women."

Severus just stares at Lucius.

The house elf has brought the requested parchment and pen, and Lucius scribbles a short note, still standing before the table.

"Here you are. Give this to Aurelio, and he will sort you out. The residencia is big enough to hold most of Slytherin House, and there will be plenty for you to do. Do you have what you require, or do you need to go home?"

"I am never going back there again."

"Well, then. Use the Floo; the houses are connected. When you're ready, ask for Finca de Malfoy."

He is given a brief cold smile, then in a whirl of robes, Lucius is gone.

The Floo spits him out in a cool, tiled bedroom, almost bare apart from the dark wood bedframe, the wardrobe and desk, also of dark wood. He moves out into the hall, down the stairs, and is met by a bent, wizened woman all in black who peers at him and lets out a long string of unintelligible speech. Severus shakes his head, says "Aurelio?" and shows the note. More speech, as the woman stares, her eyes sharp and black in the wrinkled face. He shakes his head helplessly, repeats, "Aurelio? Malfoy?"

The woman tchches in disgust, turns away and moves swiftly down the hall. She opens the door at the end, and with an ironic bow, indicates he's to come through. He hurries down to her, feeling that she'd give Dumbledore a run for his money. The kitchen he steps into is large and at the table are several people, all staring up at him from their plates of stew. The stares are closed, even, calculating. For the third time, he repeats "Aurelio?" then, for good measure, "Malfoy?"

There is a shift in the face of the tall, spare man before him, and the dark eyes close off even more.

"I am Aurelio," the younger man says, standing to come around the table.

"Lucius told me to give you this," he says, holding out the note.

Aurelio studies him for a moment before taking and reading the note. A formidable large woman gestures to the young woman, who gets up, fills another plate with stew, and puts it at a spare place, gesturing for him to sit. As he does, Aurelio is talking to the older man, the conversation bubbles and spreads, until everyone in the room seems to be speaking except for Severus. Then everyone falls silent, and looks at him.

Aurelio smiles tightly says, "This is Blanco", indicating the older man.

"Ola," Blanco says, black eyes flickering over Severus.

"O-ola?" Severus says tentatively. Blanco's mouth twists into something that might be a smile.

"Macarena, Mena, Pilar," Aurelio indicates the three women.

Severus bows slightly, and the old woman cackles. He is in a place where being tall, thin, dark and large-nosed is not unusual.

He is given a tour the next morning when he is woken at six. The farm seems to consist of scraggy sheep grazing dry, scraggy hills. He cannot understand what the Malfoy interest is in this place. No one shows any sign of magic, so Severus tucks his wand unobtrusively down along his thigh. Finally, Aurelio takes him to the long barn which forms two sides of the enclosed farmyard. In the warm smelly dark, Severus realises, are horses, and from Aurelio's tone, this is what the place is about.

The second day, Aurelio gets him up on the old white mare, and it seems further from the ground than his first awkward broom ride. The feel of the saddle, the reins, the stirrups - there are too many straps and buckles, the places of connection of himself to the shifting, stamping, shuddering beast beneath him are too few, too remote, too flimsy. He cannot understand how this will work, how he could possibly ever look like Blanco, poised astride Diablo as the gleaming black stallion clatters sideways and dances on the bit. Aurelio smoothly mounts the grey gelding, and they set off into the early morning mist.

Aurelio teaches him how to look after the horses, and he progresses from the sweaty stinking work of mucking out the stables to cleaning and oiling the leather of saddle and harness and finally to leaning against Neto's firm flanks, brushing the shivering, twitching warm grey body until the shine is finer than the finest silk hangings in Malfoy Manor. He looks into the wise brown eye, in awe of this magnificent beast, spellbound by the fierceness, the beauty.

He strokes along the quivering arched neck, running his fingers through the long grey mane, filling his nostrils with the smell of horse, as, he is suddenly aware, the grey is filling his with Severus' scent. He feels a kinship when the inbreath is snorted out in a long shuddering whinny, upper lip curled back to show long yellow teeth that put his own long yellow teeth to shame.

Aurelio and Pilar disappear on Saturday evening, and Severus sits uncomfortably with the remaining family until he can stand it no longer, escapes for a long walk in the starlight, stumbling over rocks in the dark, staring up at the broad filigree of the Galactic Plane, listening to faraway singing and guitar, before retreating, exhausted, to bed.

The next Saturday, Aurelio invites him to come along. They walk down to the bridge in the dusk and follow the river to a group of boulders. A boy younger than Severus brings a guitar, other young men, more Aurelio's age, appear. The boy with the guitar plays rough flamenco, others sing. A bottle of aniseed-flavoured spirits is passed around. He walks back with Aurelio in the hot night, stars wheeling round his head like midges, and wakes with a splitting headache.

The summer enfolds him into her routine - the farmwork and riding practice during the day, mending harness, accounts and reading at night, and Saturday nights down by the river. He almost forgets his parents, Hogwarts, Lily, Potter and his pack; almost shuts the wizarding world out of his mind. The pain seems distant, somehow belonging to another world, another person. The family are preparing for the end of summer festivities, and Aurelio and Pilar have taken Severus in hand. He understands that they are upholding their family honour, and the riding lessons get more intense.

They ride into town, the dust kicked up by the horses' hooves tasting iron-rich, the smell of horse and leather, dust and dung warring with the cooking smells of saffron and fish, churros and beef drifting from the small bars and cafes.

The square is filled with milling riders, small groups dressed in dark finery, the horses gleaming, held to obedience on cruel, shining bits. Pilar has outdone herself, altering the high-necked coat to fit Severus's narrow shoulders and small waist, fastening his hair back with a black velvet ribbon which he complained about at the time, but is now grateful for. He hasn't any hat, is not allowed any of the signifiers of rank, of belonging to one of the societies, but attracts many glances nevertheless, his hours of work on Neto evident in the gloss of the coat, the thickness and fall of the mane, the oiled daintiness of the hooves. He knows his riding has improved beyond measure, he sits confidently, using the reins lightly, guiding the gelding by pressure of knee and heel and thigh, almost, it seems, by thought as the movements are so small. The parade winds through the town, Blanco sitting tall and proud on Diablo, Aurelio managing the nervous Fausto past the bunting-festooned reviewing stand with care and skill, past groups of girls with shining eyes that follow Aurelio's progress, and some that watch him, too. The mad gallop follows back round the route, horses throwing their heads back, a few challenges of stallion against stallion quickly, powerfully curbed. Severus is flushed and breathing hard from the excitement and fear of riding full pelt round these narrow streets crowded with people, right-angle turns and flapping awnings stretching his ability to stay on, much less control the animal beneath him, to the limit. They stop at the last bar and are brought small glasses of sweet ponche while the horses drink their fill of water, and steam and stamp their hooves, whickering amongst themselves as Aurelio and Blanco discuss and evaluate the horses they have seen. The conversation is well beyond his grasp of Spanish, and he contents himself with rubbing down Neto and Fausto. They ride back over the scrubby hills slowly, the twilight deepening around them.

He drops into sleep as if into a well, sliding deep into a dream of wild riding and shouts, and is startled awake by Pilar shaking him, wailing. Her face is wet, wild wide eyes gleaming in the orange-red light shining in through the window. He feels mazy, still hearing the shouts, but slides into his trousers and runs downstairs with her. The others, Aurelio and Macarena are running from the yard hose to the barn with buckets; Blanco staggers back from the barn doors, his hands burnt. Severus pulls out his wand and shouts, "Aguamenti," but it has no effect on the flames. He tries again and again, spelling water, sand, anything he can think of to douse the flames to no avail. He sees the old woman, Mena, lower a wand as well, then sees the men behind her, notices the flash of silvery hair as they move forward.

Lucius' father holds him there, at the side of the yard, with a steely glare as he watches, impotent, horrified, as the flames rise higher in the barn, the screams and crashes, the terrified cries of the horses echoing off the hills. He catches a glimpse of Aurelio, stripped to the waist, still running frantically with bucket in hand. He moves, and Lucius' father drops a heavy hand on his shoulder to stop him, hold him in place. He wants to struggle, to tear himself free, to go and help, although he can see that it is very much too late for any help, but his feet are rooted to the ground and he is forced to stand there and watch, and listen. He sees, in his mind's eye, the fierce, wise brown eye of Diablo, watches it roll in terror, showing the white, watches it turn red, then black and lifeless as the barn burns to the ground.

In the end, Blanco and Aurelio stand before Lucius and his father, and Severus. They are sweaty and begrimed, wild-eyed, uncontrolled. Aurelio sends a betrayed glance at Severus, but there is nothing Severus can do. Abraxas and Lucius look as though they have just stepped from their drawing room, they have nothing to do with this dusty yard filled with the smell of charred wood and smouldering ashes.

"I believe we will build a chicken barn here," Abraxas says coldly.

"Ten thousand chickens. It will be good business, Sevillianos are demanding more chicken."

He turns away, motioning to Lucius to follow. Lucius in turn glances at Severus, inclines his head. Severus stares at Blanco and Aurelio for a last desperate moment before he is gathered by Lucius' hand on his back, and must turn and go.

He doesn't realise, until they move away from the yard and he feels the breeze coming down from the hills that his face is cold and wet.

"An instructive summer, I hope, Severus? Lord Voldemort is waiting. He is most curious to meet you."

Abraxas holds out a heavy silver chain to them; "We have less than a minute before the portkey activates, Lucius," he murmurs coldly.

"Wipe your face. The Dark Lord has no wish to see a puling child," Lucius snaps in a harsh undertone, and strides to his father, not bothering to look back to see if Severus follows.


End file.
